


Woman of Clay

by Geonn



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: Lena tries her hand at designing the Supergirl statue, but finds herself easily distracted by the process.





	Woman of Clay

A single hallway light, at a quarter past three in the morning, seemed so much brighter than at any time during the day. Lena squinted her eyes against it as she walked barefoot into the main room of her penthouse. She hadn’t bothered buttoning her blouse when she put it on, its collar twisted like a croissant under her unbrushed hair. Underneath she wore a pair of forest green silk shorts. She stopped next to the battered old record player standing incongruously next to the more expensive electronics and selected something slow, jazzy, something to soothe her nerves. She poured herself a lowball glass of vodka and sipped it as she crossed the room.

She stopped at the table holding her current project. It was positioned near the living room’s picture window so she could look out over the city as she worked. She knew how unlikely it was to get a glimpse of her flying by, but Lena couldn’t bear missing the opportunity if it did happen. She turned on the lamp on the side of the table and angled it so the light fell across all her failed attempts.

Supergirl. One arms akimbo, the other with her right fist raised and her left arm tucked against her side. One punching, another with her arms out to either side as if balancing on the air. Shoulders back and chin lifted. Arms up in preparation of a fight. There were sixteen in all, her own personal chess set of bishops and rooks, all representing the same soldier.

Lena put down her glass and took a seat. A new lump of clay was sitting to one side. She reached to the small dish of water she kept next to the lamp and dipped her fingers into it. Just enough to wet the tips before she began manipulating the clay. It wasn’t her job to design the Girl of Steel statue, but she’d asked the city leaders to give her a shot at it. She’d offered to do the job for free, and they were up for anything that saved money.

Her fingers pressed and reformed the clay into a vague human shape. The process was frustrating. Maybe it had just been so long since those art classes she took as a whim, or maybe she was just too close to the subject. She always found some flaw, some piece of the design which didn’t quite work. She tried to think of how she’d appeared on the Daxamite ship, but time had faded those memories. Now she could only see muscles pressing against the sleeves of Supergirl’s uniform, the hem of her cape as it swept around her waist, and waves of sun-washed hair veiling her features.

That was obviously false. There hadn’t been any sunlight on the ship, and any glow that might have come from the instruments was too dim to create the glow Lena remembered. 

She pressed her fingers into the clay and stroked slowly, creating the curve of a hip. She tilted her head to one side as she watched the shape of it appear. The muscle was taut and she could almost feel it warming under her touch as she moved back up to her hip. Not an hourglass shape here, but a more natural arc. Not too wide but not sickly thin, either. She was Super*girl*, not a supermodel. 

Lena parted her lips as she worked, almost hypnotized as her fingers pressed and massaged the lump of clay into a person. This time she extended the arms, hands palm-out and inviting. She smiled. She liked that image. She would love to look out her office window and see Supergirl hovering there, arms out, smiling.

*Come here.*

Lena shifted in her seat. She draped one leg over the other and tensed her thighs, focusing on the work. The pad of her thumb moved higher and created the rise of Supergirl’s breasts. She held her breath and pressed the clay down, then gathered some more from the shoulders. She didn’t want to admit she could picture Supergirl’s chest perfectly, but she also didn’t want to make them too large. It would be better if Supergirl could pose for her.

That thought made her pause. Supergirl, sitting across from her, back straight and shoulders back. Lena closed her eyes. She saw herself standing in front of the hero, gently repositioning her. Whispering “May I?” before she actually touched her. She could feel the texture of the suit under her fingers as she turned Supergirl slightly. And her other hand, down here on her knee. This time she asked permission with a look, raising her eyes and waiting until she received a nod.

Lena put her hand on the inside of Supergirl’s knee and eased it to one side. Her legs parted, her skirt falling between her thighs. Lena, holding her breath, moved her hand up. The clay under her fingers now felt like a stocking. She kept her eyes closed and leaned forward. In her mind, Supergirl put a hand on her hip to draw her closer. Lena put her hand under Supergirl’s skirt and pressed her hips forward, pinning the hand between them. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the vodka. 

If she kept her eyes shut, she could imagine Supergirl’s mouth just a breath away. Lena wouldn’t kiss her, would never dare to kiss a god, but she kept her lips parted in case a god would deign to kiss her. Lena realized she was rocking her hips forward on the chair, thighs tense, and the model in her hands had become twisted and misshapen while she was lost in her fantasy. She put the model down but kept one hand on the table. She moved the other between her legs, hand flat on the seat of the chair so she wouldn’t get clay on her clothes. She lifted her hips and moved her hips forward until she was pressing against her wrist.

Lena bit her bottom lip and grunted. Her fingers dug into the now-pliant clay as she imagined the scenario playing out at full speed. A kiss, her hand concealed by Supergirl’s skirt, the uniform being discarded, Lena’s own clothes tossed aside. “Supergirl,” she whispered. “I’m coming...”

There were rumors about Supergirl and her cousin. Rumors that Kryptonians had sensitive hearing, that they could pick out the slightest whisper from miles away. If it was true, she wondered how many times Supergirl had been summoned to this penthouse, how often she had hovered just out of sight beyond the curtains, arriving just in time to see Lena arch her back and cry out in orgasm. Her nipples were hard and brushed against the loosely-hanging shirt, sending shivers through her whole body.

“Supergirl,” she whispered again, a little louder this time. Just in case.

Lena rolled her head back, mouth hanging open, silently climaxing with her thighs closed tight around her arm. She shivered. Her slack expression evolved into a satisfied smile. She relaxed her legs and slid her feet across the carpet until her legs were sticking straight out under the table. She felt melted and completely relaxed. Maybe relaxed enough to actually get some sleep. She looked at her hands, grimacing at the clay which had transferred to her skin. She would have to wash up before she went back to bed.

She looked at the army of Supergirl models in front of her, including the mangled and unfinished one. She chose one at random, one of the models which was actually complete, and frowned at it. Maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew. Maybe it would be better if they just hired an actual, unbiased artist to design it. Even her most passable attempt suffered when it came to the final steps. She kept making the same silly mistake and she couldn’t figure out a way to stop herself. She wasn’t even aware she was doing it when she was in the moment.

Lena sighed. She put the model back with the others, turned off the lamp, and finished her vodka before she went back to bed.

A professional artist, at least, wouldn’t make the mistake of putting Kara Danvers’ face on Supergirl’s body.


End file.
